


Wrong

by ras_elased



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-16
Updated: 2009-09-16
Packaged: 2017-10-11 13:38:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/112983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ras_elased/pseuds/ras_elased
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Merlin always tried to do what's right. It's easy to see, in the end, where he went wrong.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Wrong

  
  
  
  
  


**Entry tags:**

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[fandom: merlin](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/fandom%3A%20merlin), [fic: wrong](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/fic%3A%20wrong), [genre: angst](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/genre%3A%20angst), [pairing: merlin/arthur](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/pairing%3A%20merlin%2Farthur), [rating: pg-13](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/rating%3A%20pg-13)  
  
  
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Title: Wrong  
Author: Ras Elased  
Rating: PG-13 for off-screen violence  
Word count: ~3K  
Warnings: dark!Merlin, angst  
Summary: _Merlin always tried to do what's right. It's easy to see, in the end, where he went wrong._  
A/N: Inspiration for this fic is primarily the result of the song ["Wrong"](http://www.megaupload.com/?d=14ZC2O71) by Depeche Mode. This is mostly an experiment in style and theme. Still not sure if it worked or not.

  


Merlin should have known, from the beginning. The Dragon had told him right from the start: _Two sides of the same coin._ Heads and tails. It was obvious, really.

Maybe if he'd known, he could have realized. He could have done things differently. Maybe if he'd known, he wouldn't have devoted his life to Arthur. Maybe if he'd known, it would have made things easier, in the end.

~*~

_The rain falls on the battleground, washing away the blood from the field, mixing with mud that seeps into Arthur's boots and between the chinks of his armor. The scent of burning homes lingers in the air, the smoke chokes his lungs. He wipes Excalibur in the grass, vibrant red against muddy green._

Merlin stands, facing him, always facing him, his brittle smile a pale reflection of the memory Arthur still clings to in the dark of night.

Years ago, he would have asked why. He would have demanded an explanation, an apology, anything to make sense of this insanity that has become his life, his kingdom, his people.

Now, he doesn't ask. He knows why, and his certainty is worse than not knowing.

~*~

Things had changed after Nimueh. Merlin had felt the change, even as he'd killed her, shattered her soul along with her body and sent it scattering to the four corners of the world. Destiny had changed. The balance had been tipped. He'd felt the Earth cry out along with Nimueh's last breath, whispering, _Wrong. This is WRONG._

The feeling stayed with him, afterwards. It stayed with him as the crops flourished, the livestock grew fat and plentiful, and the riches of Camelot swelled. It stayed with him years later, when the king died quietly in the night, when he stood proudly by Arthur's side, when the people turned their shining faces upwards and shouted in relief and happiness, "Long live the king!"

Balance. It was always about balance. It wasn't about guilt. Merlin hadn't felt guilty about Nimueh's death. Nor Sophia, nor Edwin, nor the others who followed. And there had been so many others…

He never felt guilty when he killed for Arthur's sake.

The whisper stayed in the back of his mind even as Camelot flourished, peaceful and powerful and free of evil. Merlin stayed at Arthur's side, always at his side, and still the Earth whispered, _This is wrong._

Then Arthur would look at him and smile, free and easy and _happy_ in a way Merlin never thought he'd see on a young king, and Merlin would whisper back fiercely, _No. This is RIGHT._

~*~

Gaius had remained court physician after Uther's death, and even though Merlin had moved into his own quarters and had his own duties, he still liked to stop by Gaius' workshop every once in a while. Gaius' age seemed to show more after Uther's death, and he could always use a pair of young hands. Merlin usually helped experiment with tinctures for Morgana's worsening visions, but today, Merlin's mind wasn't on preparing herbs. It was on the way Arthur's fingertips had rested against the back of Merlin's hand, the shocking softness of Arthur's lips on his, new and exciting and surprisingly chaste. If Merlin licked his lips, he swore he could still taste Arthur there.

"You look far too happy for someone cutting up feverfew." Merlin jumped, nearly slicing off his own finger. He glanced up to see a knowing look on Gaius' face as he felt a guilty blush spread down the back of his neck. "I'd ask what you're thinking about, but I imagine I know."

Merlin swallowed. "You, ah—you do?"

"There is only one person who can put a smile like that on your face." His grin softened and he patted Merlin's shoulder. "You serve him admirably. He is a great king, Merlin. I only wish the rest of the world would remember him that way."

Merlin frowned, embarrassment hastily forgotten."What? Why wouldn't they? No kingdom has ever thrived like Camelot has under Arthur's rule."

Gaius sighed, picking through the herbs Merlin had sorted incorrectly while daydreaming. "That is my point, I fear. Kings are made great by their deeds, and there can be no great deeds without great challenges." He glanced at Merlin, then waved a dismissive hand. "Bah. Nevermind me, Merlin. I suppose I've just reached the age where one begins to wonder about such things as legacy."

Merlin thought about the morning sunlight glinting off Arthur's hair, the way Arthur kissed, and the way they had smiled at each other afterwards. "I don't care what history remembers," he said, "as long as Arthur's happy."

~*~

_Arthur isn't afraid. He wasn't afraid before, and he's not afraid now, even with the whirlwind whipping madly at Merlin's blood-soaked clothes and hair, the sparks of lightning crackling at his fingertips, the blazing gold gleam of his eyes making him look wild, fearsome, destructive. Arthur knows Merlin won't hurt him, just like he can't hurt Merlin. Arthur could take on an entire rushing horde singlehandedly, and he would survive without a scratch._

Arthur never thought he'd grow to hate the feeling of safety in Merlin's presence.

~*~

It had been years since Merlin had heard the call of the Dragon, long enough for the low simmer of disgust to be outweighed by the bubbling curiosity of hearing the Dragon's voice again.

The narrow stone steps were familiar and cold under his bare feet. The stench of the Dragon's cave was just as he remembered it, dank and vile. "What do you want?" he demanded of the darkness.

The Dragon flew out of the shadows, alighting on its perch with the same fierce grace, the same grave, cryptic smile in its eyes. "You are not fulfilling your Destiny."

"My Destiny _has been_ fulfilled," Merlin countered. "Arthur is king. The people of Camelot are happy. _Arthur_ is happy."

"Your Destiny is not to make Arthur _happy_," the Dragon replied condescendingly. "It is to make him a great king, one who will unite the land of Albion."

Merlin grit his teeth. "Well, I have a new Destiny now."

"This is what I fear." The Dragon leaned close, foul breath hot on Merlin's face. "In all things, there is a balance. Life and Death, Light and Dark, Good and Evil."

Merlin scowled. "But there is no evil in Camelot. There hasn't been for years."

The Dragon sat back and said in a gratingly haughty tone, "The tide is out, but it will return. Not even you can hold back the waters of the Earth, young Emrys."

Merlin felt his temper flare, hot like the Dragon's breath. "I will never let evil harm this kingdom, or Arthur," he nearly shouted.

"The balance is not yours to decide."

"The balance is _always_ mine to decide," Merlin replied, turning his back dismissively as he made his way to the stairs.

"Emrys!" the Dragon roared. Merlin paused, but he didn't turn. "There are still choices to be made. See that you do not make the wrong ones."

Merlin glared over his shoulder at the dragon, his eyes burning gold and fierce. "I could destroy you, and you know it. Don't contact me again." Merlin turned to leave and reached out with his magic like the crack of a whip. There was a great, thundering rumble at the mouth of the cave. The stones fell in the shadow of Merlin's steps, filling the entrance, drowning out the Dragon's angry roar of protest.

~*~

_"I heard about Gwen," Merlin says, as if they are back in Camelot, two old friends catching up in a sunny patch of grass, not whatever they've become, spattered in blood in the middle of a rainy battlefield. "Congratulations," he adds._

Arthur swallows, tastes someone else's blood on his lips. His voice croaks with it. "I'm sorry."

Merlin's smile is tinged with sadness, still so brittle that it looks like he might shatter with just a touch. "It's alright, you should be happy. Both of you. I don't blame you, you know."

Arthur thinks of the long list of nights he's slept alone and the way Lancelot won't meet his eyes. Merlin may not blame him, but he blames himself.

~*~

Merlin was already asleep in their bed when Arthur stormed in, tossed his belt across the room in a huff and downed a healthy cup of wine all in one go. Merlin rubbed at his eyes sleepily and muttered, "Negotiations not going well?"

It had been like this for over a fortnight. Arthur had gathered all the nobles and rulers of Albion together to talk peace, to talk of a united land where everyone could seek freedom and prosperity, but the nobles were only interested in their own ends. The result was infighting and tedious diplomacy that constantly failed because no one was willing to uphold justice. Even Arthur was not safe from their attacks. The petty bickering over borders, over field and water rights, was wearing Arthur down. Merlin could see it in the way his shoulders slumped, a little less proud, in the weary lines around his eyes.

Arthur stripped and climbed into bed beside Merlin, pulling him in until Merlin's head was cradled against Arthur's chest, the tension of the day already ebbing away in Merlin's presence. "Nicholai is at it again," Arthur grumbled.

Merlin scowled into the curve of Arthur's neck. Nicholai was the most vocal of Arthur's attackers. He used snide words and whispers like a whittling knife, steadily carving Arthur's feet out from under him. He would need to be dealt with, sooner or later.

"You still have Excalibur," Merlin said, thinking of the long leather box kept under their bed, dusty with disuse. "You could _make_ them listen."

Merlin felt Arthur shift, pulling back enough to stare down at Merlin, and Merlin looked up to meet Arthur's bemused frown. "Excalibur is meant to be wielded against evil, not against idiotic nobles squabbling out of boredom."

Merlin ran his thumb along the strong line of Arthur's jaw. "But if there _was_ a great evil…"

Arthur snorted softly. "Then these nobles would have something better to fight than themselves."

Merlin's fingertips traced the familiar curve of Arthur's collarbone, the dip below his Adam's apple. "And you would defeat the great evil. Because you're a great king."

Arthur's hand threaded lazily through Merlin's hair. "Because I'm a good _man._ Or at least, I try to be," he sighed, pressing a soft kiss to Merlin's lips before they settled in to sleep.

Later, when the negotiations had failed, Merlin snuck into Nicholai's manor and slit the man's throat in the night. He had learned his lesson after Bayard, after Arthur had looked at him across the still warm body with such shame and anger and pity, and he no longer killed threats to Arthur or Camelot with magic for fear of Arthur finding out. He still wasn't sure if Nicholai had ever had ambitions towards Arthur's crown like so many others had, mistaking peace for weakness, but he wasn't taking his chances.

Nicholai wasn't his first. That had been Mordred, no longer a child but still a youth growing into his sprawling limbs. It had been right after the Dragon's prediction, in a desperate bid to keep Arthur safe, to keep evil _out_. But Nicholai was the first time Merlin stopped to consider that Arthur may be right. The world wouldn't be fighting Arthur if they were fighting something else.

~*~

Some nights, Merlin couldn't sleep. The Earth still whispered to him, though the volume and insistency changed. Nights like this, when the whispering became an unrelenting hum in his head, he knew it meant something evil was on the rise, something that Merlin needed to pre-emptively find and destroy before it put Arthur in danger. It was how he had found Mordred and so many others.

Restless and uneasy, Merlin spent nights like this wandering the quiet, dark halls of the castle. His quiet footfalls did little to balance out the persistent buzz in his head, but it was better than fidgeting in bed and preventing Arthur from getting some much-needed rest.

He was so lost in his own thoughts he didn't see Morgana until he nearly ran into her, looking pale and gaunt and fey as she swayed in the moonlight. "Morgana?" he stuttered. He couldn't remember the last time she'd been out of her room. Her eyes were wide and glassy, a faraway look that seemed to see right down into Merlin's soul while not really seeing him at all. Her hands were cold and shaking as she clamped them around Merlin's arms in a shockingly strong grip.

"I have his blood on my hands," she said.

The bottom dropped out of Merlin's stomach. "You…you what?"

"His _blood_, Merlin!" she repeated, frantic tears spilling down her cheeks. "There's battle all around us, armies like wasps, but I don't care, I don't _care_ because he's at my feet, and there's blood, Merlin—so much blood, and it won't stop. Destiny won't be denied, it won't stop. My eyes are burning, and it _won't stop!_"

Merlin felt sick. When he realized he was already planning how to smuggle Morgana's body from the castle, to make it look like she had run off during the night, he jerked out of her grasp and barely choked back the bile rising in his throat. Without her hold on Merlin, she sank down the wall to the floor, all her strength seemingly spent. Merlin took a step back, but her wild-eyed gaze followed him.

Morgana was right: it wouldn't stop. The tide of the world was rolling in, no matter how hard Merlin tried to push it back. Sooner or later, an evil would rise to fill the balance, and Merlin wouldn't be able to stop it. Arthur would be lost. The only choice Merlin had was to let the tide take him.

"No, Merlin," Morgana murmured weakly. "No, it's me. It's me, but it's not. You can't—My eyes are burning, but it's not me. You can't, you can't, Merlin. My eyes are burning, such golden fire, burning them, so much blood, but you _can't_."

But Merlin was already moving, stilted steps carrying him back to Arthur's chambers, Morgana's feeble words following him. "You can't go. You can't. This is wrong."

Merlin packed a few provisions, though it wasn't like he'd need them. Then he took the leather box out from under the bed, Excalibur gleaming as if it had been freshly polished, and laid the sword at Arthur's side. The buzz in Merlin's head was deafening.

By the time Arthur woke up, Merlin was too far away to find.

~*~

_"Merlin." Arthur's voice is heavy and thick as he stands facing the man he can't bring himself to hate, no matter how much he tries. "Merlin, come home."_

It's the same argument, over and over, never changing with the years. Arthur knows it's hopeless, and so does Merlin. Tears spill from his golden eyes, cutting tracks through the blood and soot on his pale cheeks. "You know I can't do that."

But Arthur is already reaching out a hand, palm up. "You can," he chokes out past the hard lump in his throat. "We can put this behind us. Merlin, you can stop this._"_

The whirlwind continues to swirl around them, the rain cutting through Arthur's armor like icy needles, and Merlin says, "If you want me to stop, you're going to have to kill me." It sounds like he's asking, but Arthur isn't strong enough to give him what he wants, no matter the cost.

They both have to live with the knowledge that Merlin is doing this out of love for Arthur.

~*~

During their first battle, Merlin razed the town to the ground. He burned men, women, and children, because he wouldn't be feared if he showed mercy. Their screams would haunt him for the rest of his life, but not as much as the look of betrayal on Arthur's face, when he looked at Merlin and saw what had been wrought on the people of his kingdom.

And Arthur advanced on him, Excalibur gleaming in the sunlight, his eyes blazing with a fire that put the burning homes to shame. "Why, Merlin?" he demanded, voice shattered with smoke and grief. "_Why?_"

And Merlin looked at him, tear-stained and unflinching, and said, "You know why."

~*~

_Arthur knows._

He knows that the world would not accept that both he and Merlin stand shoulder to shoulder with no one to face. It was an imbalance that had to be corrected. Merlin had seen it, and he had made his choice to leave Arthur's side, to be the one to face Arthur. It was the only way to ensure balance, to ensure destiny was fulfilled, and still ensure Arthur's safety. And now Merlin stood facing him, always facing him, an endless struggle between destruction and forgiveness, love and hate, destiny and choice.

Merlin had made his choice, but Arthur would never be able to shake the vague whisper in the back of his mind, reminding him, This is not how it was meant to be. This is wrong.

~*~

Merlin should have known, from the beginning. Two sides of the same coin. Heads and tails. Right and Wrong. Good and Evil.

Merlin should have known. Maybe it would have made things easier. Although, when it came to the things he was willing to do for Arthur, it turned out some things just weren't hard enough.

  
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**Fic: Wrong**   
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